Joseph woke with a terrible ache in his head. He couldn’t remember if a wretched mace-man had compounded his skull or if he had drank the entire world’s supply of ale, but he was fairly certain it had to be either of these possibilities. His white, silken bed was warm and inviting and he rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

            “Ah-um,” a servant grumbled in the corner, alerting Joseph of someone else’s presence.

            Joseph forcefully flipped himself up to face this newcomer and strained to keep his eyes open. “What!” he croaked, an army of angry frogs in his throat.

            “The Lord Poltron Saputo, Duke of Montreal and Ceo of Quebecia, would request your presence at his victory gala in the town square.” The servant, dressed in a blue and white costume that made him look like an utter buffoon, shifted from foot to foot and a steady gland of sweat running down his neck betrayed his nervousness.

            “Would he?” Joseph squawked. “I would think that the saviour of his city would not be dragged to him like a sow at an auction.”

            “Please, milord,” the servant mumbled, domiciled as ever, “my liege meant no offence.”

            “Offence is taken,” Joseph grumbled, his anger temporarily curing his drowsiness. “I lost nearly my entire army defending your lord’s interests. The least I will have is his respect. I may be a lesser lord, but Acadia is my kingdom and I am Ceo, just as Lord Saputo. And I don’t need to beg the friends of my house to protect my lands from my own stupidity.”

            “Sh-sh-should I tell the lord that you refuse his invitation?” the servant inquired, slurring his words in fear. Suddenly Joseph realized what this fool had been dreading. He had not been frightened by Joseph, but by Joseph’s refusal. The Lord Saputo may not have a brain in his head, but he certainly had a liking for sadism. What would be done to the poor messenger when he returned bearing ill news? Joseph looked into the terror filled eyes of the servant and decided that enough blood had been spilt this day. He made up his mind and crawled out of his bed, his muscles screaming in agony, knowing that this was not the first or the last time he would be forced into something unpleasant for the benefit of others.

            “No,” Joseph refuted, his voice returning to its normal splendour and grandiose tone, “tell him I’ll be there. But first fetch me a few serving boys, I doubt I’ll be able to dress myself.”

            The messenger looked as if his time in purgatory had just been halved. He crept from the room, his legs shaking, trying desperately to hide his joy of living another bitter day.